This Love Will Be The Death Of You
by taint-the-war
Summary: AU: The Harmons are ghosts and the Langdons are the new owners of the Murder House. Over time, Tate and Violet begin to fall for each other. Violet's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** AU: The Harmons are ghosts and the Langdons are the new owners of the Murder House. Over time, Tate and Violet begin to fall for each other. Violet's POV

**Violets POV**

I had been dead in this house for over two and a half years now. Ever since my mother had a heart attack, my dad hung himself out of grief, and I committed suicide two weeks prior to both these incidents, there had not been a single new family in this house.

Did this depress me? Yeah. You could say that.

I longed for someone to talk to, someone my own age. Every day for me was endless. I played hide-and-seek with the kids and Beau, helped Moira keep the house spotless for the next owners, and read old books that had apparently belonged to Charles Montgomery, one of the original owners of the house. He had allowed me to borrow some books from his personal library. They were gruesome – Charles had a disturbing Frankenstein complex – but I liked them. I liked creepy things.

One day in late August, I heard the front door creak open, followed by footsteps. I heard voices. I decided to check things out for myself.

I crept downstairs, suddenly overcome with excitement and curiosity. Imagine! People in this house! Actual, warm-blooded human beings! I hadn't been in contact with real humans for what seemed like ages, unless you count that night when I chased two ten year old boys away from the house on Halloween night of last year.

I reach the bottom of the stairs, sit down on the second-last step and take a look at the strangers who, for whatever reason, have chosen to enter this house.

There are three people standing in the entrance hall. Marcy, the plump middle-aged lady who sold us this house. But there are also two other people standing there, both of whom I do not recognize.

A boy with slightly curly blonde hair around my age is standing with his hands in his pockets, looking sullen. He has deep, dark eyes and wears clothes that make him look like he just took a time machine back from the 90s. Hate to say it, but he was a bit of a looker.

A woman, who I expect is the boy's mother, walks around, taking in the long hallway. She has curly blonde hair just like her son, with one or two grey streaks. She has his eyes, I notice immediately. She holds herself in the proud kind of manner that screams, "Mess with me and I'll fuck you up."

"And these are _real _Tiffany lanterns," Marcy exclaims, gesturing to the ceiling above.

The woman gasps. "My,my. I haven't seen these in such a long time..."

I tune out of the conversation after that. I don't want to hear Marcy trying to lure another unsuspecting family into this house. I wonder vaguely how this mother and son will meet their untimely end, just like the rest of us here, when the boy rounds the corner.

I jump foolishly, even though he can't see me. He's texting on his phone, grinning to himself. I stare at him, thinking. Maybe we could be friends, this new boy and I. I quickly cast that thought away.

'Don't be ridiculous, Vi,' I tell myself. 'There's no way you could be friends with somebody...alive.'

I sigh to myself and make my way upstairs to the attic – maybe I could play ball with Beau or something, leaving the new family to their Murder House tour.

* * *

><p>"Violet, Violet!" Margaret runs into the attic a few days later. "Guess what?"<p>

I look up from my book. "What?"

"There's a new family moving in!" Margaret squeals with excitement. "I have to go tell Angie! See you!" She beams at me before disappearing into thin air.

I blink. I knew just who this new family could be, of course.

I run to the grimy attic window. Sure enough, there is a huge removal van parked outside the house, with removal men bringing in boxes of the new family's possessions. The boy is helping them.

Mom appears from behind me. "Poor things," she murmurs sadly. "They don't know what they're getting themselves into."

"Yeah," I agree quietly. "Who are they? I mean...what are their names?"

"They're mother and son," she tells me. "Constance and Tate Langdon. That's what Moira told me, anyway."

"Oh." I turn around suddenly to grin at her. "So, are we going to give them the usual 'Murder House' welcome or what? Scare them a little?"

Mom shakes her head. "I don't think so, honey. They seem like...a nice little family."

I grit my teeth. "That's why they should be chased out of here as soon as possible. Before it's too late."

Mom purses her lips and walks silently from the room.

* * *

><p>It only takes a day or two for the Langdons to settle in to the Murder House. Constance Langdon seems to have made the place her own, decorating the place with pictures of her and her son, and a dark-haired girl.<p>

Over these short days, I begin to find out more and more about Tate Langdon. He covers his room in Nirvana and Kurt Cobain posters, and turns his stereo up so high that Nora mutters about 'ridiculous young people music' and gets as far away from the premises as possible.

It is late Saturday afternoon, and once again, I am bored out of my mind. I decide to take a peek around Tate's room, look through his CD collection – which consists mainly of Kurt Cobain – and his wardrobe- which is full of indie-style clothes.

I sit on a black beanbag in the corner of the room, and flick through a porno magazine Tate stupidly left lying around. I groan in disgust and throw it away.

I hear yelling from downstairs. A boys voice shouts: "Fuck off, mom! Stop controlling my fucking life!"

Footsteps stomp up the stairs, and within seconds the bedroom door slams open. Tate walks in, looking so agitated and wrapped up in whatever pathetic human problem he's going through that he doesn't even notice me sitting in the corner.

He runs his hands through his hair and sits on the bed, burying his head in his hands.

Without thinking, I say, "So you're the new kid."

Tate whips around to face me. His eyes are red from crying. "W-what –"

"Tate Langdon, right?" I continue.

"Who are you?" He demands, standing up.

I smirk at him. "Trust me, you don't want to know anything about me."

He glowers at me, clearly not taking this as a proper answer. "Tell me who you are right now! What are you doing in my room?"

I shrug, unfazed by his threatening tone. "I live a few houses down the street. Just thought I'd...take a look around here."

Tate still looks wary, but doesn't protest. "Er, I'm Tate. Tate Langdon."

"Nice to meet you," I reply. I step over and shake his hand. For a moment, I'm almost alarmed by how warm he feels – I haven't been in contact with a human person for what seems like ages, you see. "I'm Violet Harmon."

Tate opens his mouth to respond, but he is interrupted when his bedroom door bursts open. His mother, Constance Langdon, stands in the doorway looking livid.

She marches over to him and shouts, "Tate Langdon, who the hell do you think you are-"

Tate clears his throat, looking awkward. "Mom-" He glances over at me, ready to say something about my presence, but Constance saw me herself.

Her eyes widen. She looks embarrassed for a second or two. "Hello, young miss. And who are you, might I ask?" She smiles at me, but her eyes are as menacing as a cobra's before he goes in for the kill.

"I'm Violet Harmon," I tell her. "I-"

"She's just a...friend, mom," Tate cuts me off.

Constance blinks, then turns to her son. "A...a friend?" She looks shocked. "My goodness, Tate! You've made a friend here already! You didn't have many friends at your old school, I mean-"

"Mom," Tate whines, his cheeks turning a rosy colour.

She grins at him, then turns back to me. "Do you go to Westfield High School, Violet?" She smiles at me again, and thankfully her eyes have lost their furious glint. "That's the school Tate will be attending. He starts there soon. Tell me, is it a good school?"

I swallow back hard. "No, ma'am, I don't go to Westfield High," I lie. "I'm home-schooled."

Constance looks genuinely disappointed. "Oh, that's a shame. I was hoping Tate would have a friend at school..."

Tate rolls his eyes from behind his mother. "Mom, it's fine. I'll make new friends."

Yeah, _living _friends, I think.

Constance nods, however she still looks slightly upset. I figure something bad must have happened to Tate at his old school.

She looks at Tate, then at me, then back. "I'll leave you two kids alone, then." She smiles at us both and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Sorry about that," Tate sighs, looking sheepish.

"It's okay," I say. "Your mom seems...nice."

"You haven't seen her at her worst," he mutters.

I don't know how to respond to that, so I ask him out of mild interest, "Why did you move here?"

Tate looks kind of surprised at my question. Then, his face twists into a sad expression, and he avoids my eyes.

"My mom..." he begins in a strained voice. "She...she wanted to make a fresh start. We moved here from Virginia. My sister, Addie...she was killed."

I bite my lip. I feel an immense surge of sympathy for Tate. "I'm sorry. I really am. How-how did it happen?"

"Hit and run," Tate growls, his sorrow swiftly changing to anger. He clenches his fists. "Some drunk bastards run her over on Halloween night. Didn't even stop the car to see if she was okay. For weeks after, I wanted to go out and find them. Track them down and kill them. I never did, though. Track them down, I mean. And anyways, even if I did...I wouldn't have the balls to kill them."

I nod silently. "I'm...I'm really sorry, Tate."

"It's fine," he says quietly. He sits on his bed and glares at the floor for no apparent reason. "So, um, where are your parents? What's your story?" He seems genuinely interested.

I make up a story quickly in my head. "My parents are dead. My mom died of a heart attack, and my dad hanged himself afterwards out of grief. I live with my older sister and her boyfriend."

"Oh," Tate replies simply. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I say.

Tate and I chatted for a couple of hours afterwards, and we came to know each other better. How he had an obsession with Kurt Cobain – like I couldn't already tell from his bedroom wall and CD collection I had nosed through earlier. Also, how he hated high school and couldn't wait to get out of there.

The clock struck six pm, and Constance called from downstairs, "Tate! Dinner!"

Tate yelled back, "Coming, mom!" He turned to me. "You want to stay for dinner? My mom won't mind."

I shook my head. "No, sorry. I've got to get back to my sister. She'll be wondering where I am."

Tate nodded, and I was taken aback to see that he looked upset that I had to leave. "Okay. Stop by some time, okay? Don't be a stranger." He grins at me, flashing me some pearly white teeth.

I beam back at him, say my goodbyes, and pretend to leave the house.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Hope you liked that! Please write a review if you would like me to write more, if you liked this chapter, if you hated this chapter, etc. :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** AU: The Harmons are ghosts and the Langdons are the new owners of the Murder House. Over time, Tate and Violet begin to fall for each other. Violet's POV

**Violets POV**

As the month of August began to draw to a close, Tate and I became better friends than ever. He was nervous about starting at Westfield High– and I'm not talking about your average anxiety of a new kid starting fresh at a new school, I'm talking about actual, nail-biting anxiousness.

"Violet," he says to me one day in his bedroom, "Is...is Westfield High a...good school?" He looks almost embarrassed by this question.

I didn't know how to respond to that in a way that wouldn't make Tate even more nervous, if that was possible. I had been bullied whilst at that school; tormented and taunted by Leah and her stupid friends. True, she and her posse were long gone from Westfield High, but still; I feared for Tate. There were probably still the same kind of assholes there today.

Do I tell him the truth and have him ready for the shithole that is my old school, or lie to him and make things worse for him in the long run? I decide to do a stupid thing. I lie.

"It's a great school, Tate," I tell him in what I hope is a positive tone of voice. "It's...it's really good."

Tate immediately brightens up after that. "Oh, thank God." He looks relieved.

I itch to ask him something I've wanted to know for a little while. "Tate...did something happen to you at your old school? I mean, did you have some kind of bad experience there or –"

Tate looks away, swallowing. "I um, I was bullied. Pushed into lockers on my way to class. Called names. That kind of thing."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says. "I won't let assholes like that push me around like last time." He looks back up at me, putting on a brave smile.

I smile back at him, hoping he won't be forced to endure another experience like that. I'm anxious to change the subject.

"Want to play chess?" I ask. "There's this ancient old chess set up in the attic, it's got these really cool-"

Tate furrows his blonde eyebrows together, looking perplexed. "How do you know about that?" he wonders.

"Oh, there were a lot of families in here before you guys," I lie smoothly. "I made friends with some of the other kids who lived here. I know this house well."

"Right." Tate nods and doesn't seem to linger on this further. "Let's go get the chess set, then."

After a while, we discover that Tate isn't exactly the best chess player around. I admit, I wasn't either, but I had to find _some _kind of hobby, being stuck in this house for all eternity.

Game after game of me beating him, Tate gets frustrated and lashes out at the old chess pieces, throwing them to the ground.

"S-sorry," he apologizes quickly. He bites his lip. "Hey, how about we go over to your house?"

I blink hard. "Er, I don't think that's a very good idea, Tate."

"Why not?" he asks.

"Because...well, my sister doesn't like me um, bringing new friends over. She gets mad at me. She's kind of...weird that way." I pray this is an acceptable enough answer/lie.

Tate looks me up and down for a second, and his eyes narrow in suspicion. "Um, okay," he finally says. "How about we explore the house a little, then?"

Even though I know this house like the back of my hand – better, even – I agree to this.

"Let's go, then." Tate grins at me and, out of nowhere, takes my hand. He doesn't seem to mind the coldness of my skin.

I smile back at him and he leads me out of his bedroom and down the hallway. I notice the attic ladder is pulled down.

"I was exploring earlier," he tells me sheepishly. "Want to see what I found?"

"Sure," I reply, even though whatever Tate must've found up there will certainly be nothing new to me, that's for sure.

"Ladies first," he says with a grin, allowing me to climb the ladder before him.

I do so, and once I am standing on the attic floor, he begins to ascend the ladder also. Before he can emerge, I hiss into the darkness, "Don't come out and scare him!" A warning to my fellow ghost 'friends' not to come out of nowhere and give Tate the fright of his life.

A couple of seconds later, Tate is standing next to me, his hand in mine once again.

He doesn't seem to feel embarrassed about this at all – but I am. Not for the reasons you'd think, though. I'm just terrified of him asking why my hands are so cold. Also because of the tiny voice inside of me whispering 'This is wrong. You shouldn't be interacting with a human this way.'

"Come here," Tate says softly, leading me to the far corner of the attic.

There is a dirty cardboard box sitting there. He kneels down, and I sit cross-legged on the floor beside him.

"Look at all this great shit I found!" he says excitedly.

He pulls some black-and-white photographs out of the box. They are all of Charles and Nora with their now mutant-looking son Thaddeus. There are also some pictures of the house when it was first built, looking the same as ever, unchanged even after all these years.

"Cool, isn't it?" He hands me one or two of the photographs which I, of course, have seen many times before.

"Yeah," I agree quietly, looking at the pictures, pretending to sound awestruck.

He continues to look through the photographs, clearly amazed by them.

"This house has a...incredible history," he murmurs. He tears his eyes away from the bundle of photographs and grins at me wickedly. "Well, by incredible I mean gruesome. People died here, didn't they?"

I nod. "Yeah. Quite a few people, actually."

"Marcy – the woman who sold us the house – said that the previous owners died here, too," Tate says. "A family, all three of them. The mother died of a heart attack, I think. And the father and daughter both killed themselves. It was all over the news a few years back."

"Really?" I ask lightly.

"Oh, yeah," Tate tells me. "It was like, big news all across the country."

We're famous, I think. I make a note to tell mom later.

I decide I have to ask him something else. "Did Marcy tell you about the other people who died here?"

Tate shrugs. "Well, yeah, she mentioned it, I guess. Kind of...vaguely told us how a lot of people died in here. Didn't really go into detail, though. I wish she did. I'm...into that kind of dark stuff. It's interesting."

I smirk. "You're kind of twisted, aren't you?"

He grins crookedly at me. "Guess so."

"That's alright," I assure him. "I'm twisted, too. Hey, want me to tell you more about the house's history? I'm...kind of an expert on it."

"Yeah!" Tate leans forward eagerly, sitting with his hands on his knees like a little kid waiting for story time.

And so, I tell Tate about the history of the house, all the murders committed here. I tell him about Charles and Nora and their son, Thaddeus. I tell them about Moira, Maria, Chad and Patrick...everyone.

"Wow," Tate says at the end of my history lesson. "You sure know a lot about this house. Hey, I noticed...you didn't mention the family who died here just a few years ago?"

I bite my lip, looking away. "Um, I don't really know...that much about them. It's nothing interesting, anyway. Just a broken family who all just...happened to have died in here."

Tate nods silently, playing with his thumb ring. "Ugh, I just remembered. I start school tomorrow. Whoopee."

I sigh in sympathy for him. "Aw, I'm sorry. D-Don't worry, Tate. You'll be fine."

"Hope so," he says. "I bet nobody there is going to be as nice as you." He smiles at me.

I blush in spite of myself. "Like I said, don't worry. Tomorrow's going to be a good day for you, Tate. I can feel it."

* * *

><p>I pretended to 'leave' for my imaginary sister's house a couple of hours after that. Tate and I spent the rest of the evening watching TV till around ten or eleven at night, until Constance said it was time for me to go.<p>

In the early hours of the morning, I heard mom calling me from the kitchen.

"What, mom?" I sighed, appearing there in a flash.

"I saw you hanging out with that Tate boy," Mom said, hands on hips.

I raised an eyebrow. "Um, yeah. So what?"

Mom's expression softened. "Listen, sweetie. I'm happy you've finally found a friend in this house. I'm glad you're not...alone anymore. You deserve someone to talk to. But all I'm saying is...don't get too close to him. Okay?"

"What do you mean...?" I trailed off, confused, but then realized what she meant. I made a face. "Ugh, mom! Tate and I are just friends, that's all. Nothing more. Besides, he's starting at Westfield tomorrow. He'll make new, normal friends and forget all about me. Alright?"

Mom pursed her lips but nodded. She kissed me on the forehead and disappeared, leaving me alone in the darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Please leave a review if you loved/hated that! Thanks for reading, guys. :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** AU: The Harmons are ghosts and the Langdons are the new owners of the Murder House. Over time, Tate and Violet begin to fall for each other. Violet's POV

**Violets POV**

The next day, I wait and wait for Tate to arrive home from his first day of school. I have practically bitten my fingernails off, I am so nervous for him. To pass the time, I play dolls and tea parties with Margaret and Angie, but he's still on my mind all day long.

Finally, at around three-thirty, the front door of the house opens wide. I hear footsteps, then the door slamming shut. I race downstairs, biding Margaret and Angie goodbye.

"See you later, girls!" I call to them, leaving the room.

Sure enough, when I get to the landing, Tate is coming up the stairs. His Jansport school bag is clenched in his hand, his blonde hair tousled and dirty. He senses my presence, but chooses to ignore me.

"T-Tate?" I say tentatively as he walks straight past me, heading for his bedroom.

I follow him, but he slams the door right in my face. I sigh. Sure, I could just walk straight through the chestnut wooden door, but obviously that's kind of out of the question.

"Tate, let me in!" I demand, banging on the door with all my might.

"No!" he yells back. "I-I don't want you to see me."

My heart sinks. "Why not? What happened, Tate? Please, let me in! I...I won't hurt you!"

Silence.

I'm about to turn away from the door, to finally admit defeat, when the door swings open. Tate's sitting there on his bed, his head in his hands.

I approach the bed and stand in front of him. Still, though, he refuses to look up at me.

"Tate, what happened?" I say softly. "You...you can tell me."

"You promise not to laugh?" he whispers.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." I can't help but laugh a little internally at this. I'm so lame.

Slowly, he lifts his head up from his hands. There's a big, bloody gash on his face. It stretches from just under his left eye to his jaw.

I bite my lip, wanting to cry. "Oh, Tate..." I murmur sadly, sitting down on the bed next to him. "I'm...I'm so sorry. How did it happen?"

He clenches his teeth. "Some asshole jocks did it. In the cafeteria. The teachers saw – they didn't give a shit."

"I'm sorry, Tate," I say again, feeling like a broken record. I can't think of what else to say. So I take his hand in mine and hold it tight.

"It's okay," I mumble, stroking his warm-blooded hand. "Are you going to tell your mom?"

Tate shakes his head. "No. I don't want her to worry."

I furrow my eyebrows, confused. "Well, you can't exactly hide a wound like that from her, Tate. How are you going to you know, fix it?"

Tate smiles, looking embarrassed. "Er, you a good nurse, Violet?"

I grin at him. I pull him off the bed and lead him downstairs to the empty kitchen – Constance is at work, Tate tells me. I make him sit on the counter-top while I dig out a first-aid kit from the cabinets.

"Hey, you got any cute nurses outfit or...?" Tate winks at me.

I laugh out loud. "Shut it, Tate."

"I feel like a little kid again," he chuckles, as I clean his injury, adding some iodine to his cheek to help bring down the blood flow.

"It's no trouble." I smile at him, and ten minutes or so later his face is blood-free. However, the gash is still there, a pinkish colour.

"Does your mom have any makeup?" I ask him.

Tate makes a face. "Makeup? Ew, gross! I'm _not _wearing makeup!"

I roll my eyes. "Well, _you _were the one who didn't want your mom to see it, remember? It's either makeup or have her find out..." I trail off suggestively.

Tate sighs. "Okay, fine. She has some upstairs. In her bedroom."

A couple of minutes and protests from Tate as I apply makeup to him later, barely any of his wound is visible. Just a small, pinkish line.

I admire my work, beaming. "I'm really good, aren't I?"

Tate is over-the-moon with happiness. "Thanks, Vi! You're the best!"

Then, without warning, he leans over and kisses me on the cheek.

I blink, looking down. "Er..." Once again, I'm stupidly speechless.

"Sorry," Tate apologizes quickly, turning tomato red.

I look back up at him and smile. "It's okay, Tate. Really."

My mom's warning echoes in my mind: _Don't get too close to him._

Then, another, more rebellious voice inside me whispers: 'Fuck what your mom says! What does she know? You like Tate, don't you?'

'No!' the more reasonable side of me snaps. 'He's just a friend!'

'Yeah, right.'

Tate's voice brings me back to earth. "Um, I'm sorry. You don't like me that way... I get it." He plays with his thumb ring, looking dejected.

"No, Tate, it's not that at all!" I tell him desperately. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. Besides, for all I know I might actually like him back – I'm just too stubborn to realize it.

"It's nothing to do with you," I continue. "It's...it's me. I just...I'm not good for you, Tate. I'm different."

"I don't care, Violet," Tate says, moving a little closer. "I...I like you. You're good for me, I can feel it."

I chew my lip. "I'm not, Tate! Like I said...we're too different."

Tate's expression quickly shifts to anger. "You keep going on about how you're different! In what way, Violet? How are you different?"

"I...I just am, Tate. Believe me, it's nothing to do with you, I swear. There's just things you don't know about me..."

Tate takes both my hands in his. "Tell me what I don't know, then. I don't care if you...if you have six toes on one foot or...or if you're a schizophrenic or something! I'll still like you. You can tell me." He smiles at me gently, which makes my heart skip a beat or two.

I want to tell him so badly. I do. There's something about the way he looks at me...it makes me want to trust him. But I can't tell him. I know he'll run for the hills, screaming. He might even think I'm just a crazy person and ship me off to a psych ward or something, I don't know. Either way, I can't tell him about me. Not...not yet, anyways.

I look up at him, not knowing how to respond to that, how to tell him that I just...can't tell him what I am, and why I'm not good for him.

"I'm sorry, Tate," I blurt out, then do the most impulsive thing possible.

I abandon him right there and then, race from the kitchen. I hear him shouting my name from behind me, begging me to stay, that I can trust him. I ignore him. I just head for the attic and curl up in the corner behind a cardboard box like the coward I am.

* * *

><p>Hours pass, and I am still in the exact same position. Tate came searching for me, of course – searched all over the house, I could tell from the desperation, the defeat in his voice as he finally accepted I was nowhere to be found. He came to the attic to look for me, but with a snap of my fingers I made myself unknown to him.<p>

Soon after that, Hayden appears out of nowhere.

"Well, well, well." She grins teasingly at me, playing with a lock of her hair. "In love with a human, are we?"

"I am _not _in love with him, you crazy bitch!" I scream, throwing a random small wooden box in her direction, one of Nora's old possessions, by the looks of it.

Hayden dodges the box swiftly, then laughs wickedly.

"Not that I blame you of course," she persists, "For falling in love with him, I mean. He's _gorgeous. _Mind you, if you don't want him anymore, I'd be happy to hook up with him instead."

A surge of jealousy creeps up on me. "Don't you touch him," I snarl.

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Besides, I don't think your mother would approve of your relationship with him, now would she?"

"None of your business," I snap.

Hayden sighs, then opens her mouth to say something else. I decide I've had enough with her.

"Leave me alone, Hayden!" I shout. I shut my eyes tight. "Go away!"

When I open them again, she's gone. Finally.

Not ten minutes after that, I get yet another visitor. My mom.

I grit my teeth as she sits beside me, waiting for her to chew me out.

"Hi, mom," I say quietly, keeping my eyes on the ancient wooden floorboards. "I guess Hayden's probably told you already. About...what happened."

Mom nodded. She wrapped an arm around me. "Vi, do you like this guy?"

"As a friend?" I asked. "Yeah, of course. But more than that..." I bite my lip. "I don't know, mom. I feel like...a part of me likes him as more than a friend, but then the other part of me is telling me that I shouldn't like him. Because it's wrong. I'm a ghost. He's a human. It's...it's not going to work out."

Mom sighs, stroking my hair. "You just follow your heart, honey. It's the best way to go."

"Wait," I say, confused. "Didn't you just say last night that I shouldn't get too close to him? Hypocritical much?"

Mom laughs a little. "Well, I guess I kind of realized that if you do like him, there's nothing I can do to stop it, is there? I'm not going to hold you back, Vi. You just...make the right decision. Okay?"

"Typical mother advice." I grin. "But yeah. Okay. Thanks, mom."

* * *

><p>It's ridiculous, foolish, childish...and a whole lot of other things, but I stay in the attic for two days. I don't talk to Tate. I don't go looking for Tate. But I sure as hell think about Tate.<p>

Like I said – it's foolish for me to isolate myself like this. Dad always told me that I shouldn't run away from my problems, that I should just face up to them and try my best to fix them. Me? Well, I do the exact opposite of that.

I hide from Tate like a coward. He comes looking for me, but of course, I still hide, even then. I know I can't hide forever. But I try to.

On the second day of my 'isolation', Tate comes looking for me once again. Ugh. That boy never gives up, does he? He's just so...stubbornly determined. One of the things I found so attractive about him in the first place, I guess.

Stupidly, I'm dazed by the sound of his voice calling out for me that I forget to hide myself from him. He gasps when he sees me standing in the corner. He runs to me, his arms extended as if he wants to hug me. I keep my arms pinned at my sides.

"Violet!" he says. "What happened? You were gone for days! I thought I'd never see you again! I even tried to find your house. I went looking all over the neighbourhood, going from door to door. I asked everyone I met if they knew a Violet Harmon, but they didn't."

I look away from him. "Tate..."

"There's something you're not telling me, Vi," he says softly, coming closer.

He places a warm hand on my ice cold cheek. The feel of him is so intoxicating, I close my eyes in ecstasy. I quickly snap out of it.

"What's this big secret you're so mysterious about?" he demands, his hand still on my cheek. "You can tell me, I can take it."

I straighten up and take a deep breath. Finally, I spit it out.

"I'm a ghost, Tate," I tell him. "I died in this house a few years ago. Somehow I'm still around."

Tate's eyes widen, and he turns pale as...well, a ghost. He looks as if he's about to faint.

"You're...you're messing with me, Vi," he says, shaking his head, refusing to believe it.

"I'm serious, Tate," I swear. "I wouldn't lie about this."

Tate mouths 'wow.' Then, he smiles weakly at me. "It's okay, Vi. I believe you. How...how did it happen?"

"I used to cut myself," I say. "One day it finally worked."

His eyes drop down, and for once he notices the scars on my arm, the slit on my neck. He says softly, "I'm so sorry, Vi."

"It's okay," I murmur.

"I...I cut myself," he whispers. He pushes back the sleeve of his jumper, revealing four or five deep cuts. He looks up at me, a small smile forming on his face. "Guess I'll think twice about it now."

"I hope so," I say quietly. "I don't want you to...to end up like me, Tate. You don't deserve to be trapped in a place like this."

He looks confused for a moment. "What do you mean 'trapped'?"

I sigh. "I guess I should explain. See, for whatever reason, when you die in this house, you can't leave. You can't pass over...to the other side. The only time you can physically leave this place is on Halloween. I'm not the only one trapped in here. All the people you heard about, who died in here all those years ago? They're still trapped here. So are my mom and dad. We're prisoners in here for all eternity."

Now Tate _really _looks like he's about to faint. Then, he smirks a little. "I don't know, Vi. I mean...eternity with you. Doesn't sound so bad to me."

I laugh. "Eternity's a long time, Tate. It gets...boring after a while."

"I can imagine," he says softly. "I'm sorry, Vi. _You're _the one who doesn't deserve to be trapped here. I...I wish I could find a way to get you out of here." I'm shocked to see that his eyes well up with tears.

"It's okay, Tate," I murmur, reaching out to wipe a tear from his cheek. "At least you're here with me, right?"

"Guess so," he mumbles. "By the way, I er, don't know if this is the right time to ask but..." He trails off.

"It's okay. Ask me anything."

He nods. "Do...do you like me, Violet?"

Oh, crap. Anything but _that._

"I..." I bite my lip, thinking desperately of what to say. "Tate, I...I do like you. As more than a friend, if you must know."

His eyes brighten, and a wide smile spreads across his face.

"But," I continue. "It's...it's wrong, Tate, you and I. We...we can't be together. I'm a ghost, for God's sake! You're alive and it just...it won't work."

"We'll make it work, Vi," Tate tells me. "To hell with...with rules and it being 'wrong' and all that shit! We like each other. That's all that matters."

I bite my lip. "I don't know. I mean, what about –"

Suddenly, Tate leans in quickly and kisses me full on the lips. A moan escapes from the back of my throat, and I deepen the kiss.

I didn't _mean _to, okay, but the kiss goes on for longer than a minute or two, let's leave it at that.

Finally, Tate breaks away, panting. He grins at me and takes my hand. "What do you say to that, hmm? Do you still want to be 'just friends'?" His expression is smug, but I can't help it – I give in to temptation.

I laugh. "Okay, Tate. I guess...we're officially going out."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Yay! :D Now don't go making assumptions, cause I promise, it won't be all happy-sunshine-and-rainbows for long... ;) Thanks for reading, and please leave a review sharing your thoughts! xx


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